


Sometimes A Couch Is Just A Couch

by Seldarius



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seldarius/pseuds/Seldarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne lives up to her threat and puts Jack on the couch for some psychoanalysis. She finds a little more than she'd bargained for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sometimes A Couch Is Just a Couch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody. I've been in the fandom for a while, but usally am admittedly a "fanfic"-girl. However, I was asked to post this story here - apparently some people dislike my chosen platform - and decided to comply. Thanks go to Ginger and Barb for their input. Enjoy.

Gloomy half-darkness greeted him on opening the door and taking a hesitant step into the entrance of the hotel suite. Jack's heart beat in his throat. Maybe following the anonymous invitation which had arrived at the station this afternoon hadn't been a good idea after all – despite, or more because, he knew exactly who had sent it.

“Miss Fisher?” he called, receiving no answer.

Fighting down the urge to flee, he closed the door and made his way into the sitting room, where a fire roared against the cold spring day lingering in Melbourne's streets. He spotted her standing with her back to him, pouring liquid into glasses.

“Glad you could make it, Inspector.”

A pair of red lips simpered, as Phryne turned and approached him. Jack gulped before setting down his hat and forcing himself to smile.

“Is there any reason for you summoning me here?” he asked while accepting the champagne from her fingers.

“More than one,” she smiled, leading the drink to her lips, while measuring him from underneath her lashes. It was hard to say if the warmth of the fire made her cheeks glow or whatever thoughts occupied her mind, but he had a hard time tearing his eyes from her for long enough to remember the glass in his hand. Hastily the Inspector took a gulp, felt the cool liquid prickle down his throat.

“Enlighten me,” he whispered, his voice too hoarse to hide how much she affected him. To his equal relief and disappointment, she retreated in a rustle of red silk and returned to the middle of the sitting room, flinging herself into a comfortable armchair and crossing her legs.

“I believe, Jack, I promised you a psychoanalysis.”

“Threatened rather,” he cut in, which she ignored. Amused he stepped closer.

“And the Windsor happens to provide both, terribly comfortable sofas and a rather _intimate_ setting.”

Her voice had dropped to an obscene level and he could feel the hair rising at the back of his neck. But Jack Robinson wasn't going to give into her demand quite this easily.

“I  wasn't aware that psychology was amongst your many talents, Miss Fisher.”

She cocked her head at him, taking another gulp of her glass, somehow managing to fill this gesture with so much lustful promise that he felt his pulse jump and rather wished he had held on to his hat.

“Which stands to prove that there is still plenty you do not know about me,” she smiled, rising. He didn't struggle when she peeled the topcoat from his shoulders. “And I'll admit, I am very curious about _your_ deepest, dirtiest  secrets, Jack.”

The latter had been a whisper right beside his ear and her words trickled down his spine, convincing his feet to move to the white sofa on their own accord where he sat in a rather uncomfortable position, trying to hide the obvious effects her proximity had left on his body.

“I believe Sigmund Freud finds it customary to lay his patients down,” Phryne teased while sinking into her chair again. Jack realised that his coat and therefore his last chance at a gracious exit had disappeared.

“I fear the Doctor would prove much less dangerous company to me.”

Despite his protest, the Inspector emptied his champagne glass in one big gulp and settled himself into the soft pillows. Since he had entered her game willingly, he assumed it was only fair he played along. The vulnerability the new position brought was instant and took his breath away.

“Are you comfortable, Jack?” her voice asked from somewhere far away.

“Not in the least,” he admitted, his thumb rubbing against his forefinger in a nervous gesture. When she touched his wrist, he almost jumped. His half-closed lids snapping open, he found her hovering above him with a soft expression.

“You need to relax,” she insisted, gently pressing his hand down beside him on the sofa. He couldn't do anything but nod as his eyes followed her walk across the room, pull her chair towards the sofa and settle down near his head. It wasn't exactly a psychoanalytical position, he was still able to see her and was grateful for that, yet the notebook she produced from somewhere worried him.

“You do not actually intend on writing any of this down, Miss Fisher?” he asked. She grinned.

“One can never know when intimate information is required.”

Jack was well aware that she was teasing him, yet the idea of her documenting his secrets closed his throat and caused his stomach to rebel.

“Phryne,” he said, simply, warningly. She looked at him for a long moment and laid the booklet onto a side table.

“So?” she asked, when his ruffled feathers had visibly settled.

“What would you like me to tell you?” he asked, his fingers having returned to fiddling nervously with a button, which Miss Fisher, of course, noticed, but didn't take any measures against in this instance.

“It seems mandatory to begin an analysis with family relations,” she stated casually and had almost laughed at his expression. He hadn't expected that.

“You do actually have parents, Jack?” she teased. He only nodded.

“I believe it is common to have parents,” he said after a moment's delay, the colouring of his voice causing her to regret her joke. “And I am happy to inform you that I did hold my late mother very dear, but will have to disagree with Dr. Freud on the object of any intimate desires.” 

It was Phryne's turn to be surprised and Jack settled back down with a tiny smile of satisfaction. He hadn't come completely unprepared.

“Any more questions, Miss Fisher?”

“More than you can imagine.” 

He raised his eyesbrows at her and she leaned back in her chair, measuring him calmly. His amusement grew. She would ask what her curiosity couldn't let rest, he was certain. But she took the time to leave another mark of bright red lipstick on the rim of her champagne coupe before she did.

“You happened to mention raiding a brothel...” 

“So I did,” he confirmed with a grin, relaxed enough to forget fiddling with his clothes. “And you would like to hear details, I trust?” 

“As a matter of fact I would.” 

Jack stared at the ceiling as he tried to recall events from a long time ago.

“I was still at the academy then, quite young and believe it or not, innocent, Miss Fisher.” 

“Is that a fact?” she teased, not receiving any answer. 

“One night we were sent to a restaurant in China-town with the vague information that something illegal was happening in their back rooms. I dare say my Sergeant knew exactly what we would find.” 

“And what did you find, Inspector?” 

“I'm sure you can use your imagination, Miss Fisher.” 

She grinned.

“I could, but then where would be the fun in that, Jack?” 

He cleared his throat noisily.

“If you absolutely must know, we interrupted a variety of scantily clad ladies and rather angry gentlemen in their nightly activities.” 

“I trust you received an education on the female body that night?” 

“It was... insightful.” 

Phryne snuggled deeper into her chair, trying to contain her amusement at Jack's confession. She could never resist peeling back his layers and discovering something new about him. But what made it even more enjoyable was the fact that he didn't seem bothered by her curiosity.

“Did you blush, Inspector?” she asked between sips of champagne. 

“Furiously,” he admitted with a grin, folding his hands over his stomach. “I believe I may have also stuttered when one of the ladies decided to address me.” 

His eyes finally sought hers, trying to establish how exactly she felt about his memories.

“Offering her services?” Phryne asked. 

“Mostly she graced me with a string of vocabulary not suitable for mixed company before she hurled a... device at me..” 

She waited, noting that his eyes were now blazing with amusement and battling the urge to kiss him.

“I caught it,” he smirked. 

Phryne had to avert her eyes for a moment in order to get a grip on her emotions. Jack's face coloured with excitement was threatening to get the better of her and the way he licked his dry lips when recalling the particularly delicate details didn't help her composure in the least. Her fingertips trailed along the armrest of her chair as her imagination ran wild.

“Do I go right in the assumption that Dr. Freud would have described this item as a phallic symbol?” she asked, crossing her legs. The corner of Jack's mouth twitched at this, but he caught himself quickly. 

“I don't think describing it as symbolic would have done it any justice, Miss Fisher.” 

The way the skin around his eyes crinkled at the joke weakened her knees and her fingernails dug themselves deeper into the soft fabric on their own accord. Feverishly she sought a question which would tip the power in this game back into her favour, but before she could come up with anything, Jack continued.

“Mind you, I can hardly imagine glass to be a particularly enjoyable material for such matters. In fact many of the items we found rather astounded me.” 

“How so?” she heard herself ask weakly. 

“I seem to remember a whole assortment of whips that escaped my idea of any usefulness... at the time,” he added slowly after a moment's thought. Phryne felt herself flush at the teasing tone but decided to ignore her annoying body. 

“Would you like me to explain their use, Inspector?” 

Again his eyes returned to her and she found with some intrigue that they had darkened.

“Thank you, I believe my imagination has markedly improved since then.” 

“As you please,” she smiled sweetly, straightening her back. It wouldn't do to lose herself in staring at his invitingly opened mouth. “Continue.” 

He looked at her for a moment longer before he did as asked.

“We also discovered a fair collection of ropes, though there were convenient photographs and drawings provided to explain their application.” 

Phryne couldn't help but wonder as she witnessed him crossing his legs at the ankles in sudden discomfort.

“I am sure you studied them dutifully,” she simpered, getting up to refill their glasses. The pictures came unbidden, a younger Jack, fewer lines to his face, devoid of the shadows created by War and his time in the police force, in a mixture of awe and arousal, too upright to allow himself to look, yet too intrigued not to stare. 

“Naturally. They were evidence after all.” 

She felt his voice tingle down her spine like warm honey and decided to change the subject while she fiddled with the champagne bottle longer than strictly necessary.

“And the percussor also happened to be found...?” 

“In one of the ladies's private rooms. I believe it was a coincidence it even made it's way into an evidence bag. Its appearance can hardly be described as erotic.” 

“Undoubtedly,” Phryne mumbled as she watched him pull himself onto an elbow to take a sip from his refilled glass before sinking back into the soft pillows. 

“But it was rather interesting to see a whole room of police officers turn a shade beyond purple at the description of the lady in question,” he quipped. “Sadly I was sent to make tea by the time they reached magenta.” 

The sparkle had returned to his eyes when Phryne joined him again and she decided to proceed with caution. A decision that was challenged only a moment later.

“Now, Miss Fisher, will you tell me how you have made the acquaintance of this particular massager?” 

It was a bold request, much bolder than she had expected from her Inspector and certainly not one she had been prepared for. Belying her flipping stomach she forced a smile onto her lips.

“I believe psychoanalysis is meant to be unidirectional, Jack.” 

She found herself confronted with a pair of raised eyebrows and a grey stare that saw right through her.

“Are you avoiding my question, Miss Fisher?” 

With a theatrical roll of her eyes, she gave in.

“Those devices were in fashion amongst Parisian women after the War.” She shrugged with the tiniest hint of embarrassment. “And I've never been one for leaving my curiosity unsatisfied,” she added, her voice having returned to a sultry tone. “Or anything else for that matter.” 

She watched, content, as Jack's Adam's apple bobbed before he noisily cleared his throat. She could sense that he was grappling for another subject, but was quicker.

“So, how about your satisfaction, Jack?” 

He started, cocked his head at her, his eyes begging her to clarify.

“Don't you ever feel the need for company?” 

Jack swallowed dryly, wondering if he should share the truth. That he sometimes ached so much to touch her that it kept him awake at night. Then he considered Phryne's smirk and decided that it wasn't wise to encourage her.

“I have got plenty of company, Miss Fisher,” he explained instead, “In fact I barely spend a waking moment alone, which isn't always a blessing.” 

She retreated, rolling her eyes at him, but decided not to insist that that was hardly what she'd meant. He was obviously avoiding the subject, which made her wonder...

“Did you enjoy Concetta's company?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could muster. To her annoyance he smiled, drawing an arm underneath his head and settling on it while contemplating an answer. 

“I did... About once a fortnight.”

The satisfaction colouring his voice caused a whirlwind of emotions to swirl through Phryne's stomach. She couldn't quite decipher all of them.

“Usually along with a good drop of wine and a bowl of pasta,” he added, his grin broadening as he twisted his head to finally seek her eyes. The amused glimmer she found in them let her release a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. 

“The wine at Strano's is very good,” she agreed. He fished unseeingly for his champagne glass, almost causing it to tumble. 

“It is not quite up to your standards, Miss Fisher,” he smiled as he drained it for the second time. She took the empty coupe from him, their hands brushing together. Electricity danced over her fingers and up her arm, threatening to rob the breath she had only just regained. 

“Yet you haven't returned there since the night after Salvatore's arrest,” she finally said, ignoring his comment. 

“I won't even ask how you know about that. But I doubt I'd be welcomed,” he smiled thinly. The loss of his favourite restaurant and his friendship with Concetta had been bearing on his mind ever since the unfortunate night, which was maybe some excuse for his indiscretion in telling Miss Fisher the truth. 

“But I hear this is the turn thwarted engagements usually take,” he added after a break. Phryne all but dropped her glass.

“I believed she was to be married to Roberto Salvatore?” she managed after she'd caught her breath. 

“In her Father's design. Concetta voiced... different hopes,” he explained. Phryne became aware that she was staring – and that Jack's eyes danced over her in amusement, betraying that he was enjoying her loss in composure. Somehow he had gained the upper hand in this conversation despite their little game. This wouldn't do. 

“Another drink, Inspector?” 

She smiled sweetly and without waiting for an answer, she rose. The realisation that the champagne bottle was empty sent her instead for the side board where a crystal decanter was waiting. She gathered she could rather do with a stiff drink right now. Of course, she had thought, feared even, that some romantic entanglement existed between the Inspector and his beautiful Italian friend and she should probably have known that as honourable a man as Jack Robinson wouldn't allow himself to be swept away by mere physical desires. Yet, marriage... Dear God. That would take a moment to swallow.

“Phryne?” 

His voice was gentle and rough like the Scotch she was pouring and also right behind her, causing her hands to still even as she turned her head to aim an insincere smile at him. Jack's warm fingers slipped alongside hers, taking the bottle from her without any resistance before they grasped for her waist and spun her to face him. He was standing so close that she could feel the heat radiate from his body, looked into dark, intense eyes. Questions were spinning through her mind but she couldn't bring herself to ask any of them.

“So... Concetta?” she finally brought out, in a last attempt to get a grip. 

“Isn't you,” he murmured and then she forgot anything about Austrian neurologists _and_ lovely Italian women as his intent became clear. His thumb running along her jawline, his eyes on her as if she was the most precious thing in the world, she steeled herself  for what was to come. But when his lips closed in, she realised that she hadn't anticipated anything like the flood of feelings rolling over her. 

His mouth was hot, soft and tender and she could sense the last of her resistance drowning in it as she clutched onto his back, drew him in deeper, suddenly taken over by a burning need. She felt the universe spinning around her, the stars glimmering in front of her eyes, breathless in the darkness of emotions. His arms held her steady in the chaos, his hands demanding her attention - but nothing more. Miss Fisher was familiar with the places male hands usually ventured to in a situation like this. Yet, Jack's palm was lying hot and heavy in her back, the other entangled in her locks, embracing her tightly, yet gently. It was confusing to say the least. 

He finally retreated and her heart made a leap when she looked at him, tenderness etched onto his flushed features, his lashes half-closed, returning from a pleasurable dream. His chest was heaving as he tried to regain his breath and she used the chance find her own composure, realising that in her dazed state her hand had curled around his neck.

“I believe this might be a bit more than the Doctor had bargained for,” she quipped, revelling in the softness of his expression - a sight that she was certain not many people had ever gotten to witness. He opened his mouth, but took a moment to sort his thoughts before he could speak. 

“We may call it a Freudian slip if you wish, Miss Fisher.” 

He smiled ruefully while his fingers trailed through her hair. She tilted her head at him.

“Does that mean you consider it an error?” she enquired, her fingertips tickling along the nape of his neck. He shook his head, barely visible. 

“More the expression of unconscious desires,” he explained, his eyes still glued to hers, his voice rough with emotion and what she suspected to be a hint of fear. 

“I for my part am rather conscious of them,” she argued as her hand ran over his back, drew him closer. She encountered no opposition when she pulled his hips against hers, finding a reflection of her own need to feel him in the hardness pressing against her through multiple layers. Jack gasped quietly at the contact, but made no move in either direction. She understood. This was as far as he would go without a formal invitation. 

“Is that so?” he whispered roughly, his eyes flitting to her lips. Phryne realised that she had lost track of their conversation. 

“Indeed,” she breathed anyway, not certain what she was agreeing to, capturing his head into a second kiss. This time her mind stopped spinning for long enough to drink in the sensation of his body moulded against hers, his soft lips, the quiet moan that escaped him when her tongue demanded entrance into his mouth, the taste of champagne mingling with his very own flavour which she couldn't describe, yet was certain she would never forget again in her lifetime. When she ran out of air she retreated barely enough to gasp some into her lungs before pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips, indulging in the hitch in his breath as she worked her way along his jawline. His fingers clenched in her hair as he threw his head back with a suppressed groan, inadvertently allowing her better access to his neck. Her lips ghosted over his Adam's apple, tasted the tender skin she had wondered about in her daydreams, nibbled at the crook of his neck. She felt him shiver against her then and retreated, panting, to take in her effect. 

Jack was utterly lost.

His eyes had been shut tightly, scared to miss a sensation but now they fluttered open and he found Phryne looking at him like a cat who had  discovered the cream bowl  and intended to devour every single drop of it . He didn't dare move for fear of the spell breaking, but  rejoiced in the mixture of emotion openly displayed on her features. 

She stood close - too close to deny his arousal, but he restrained his passion s . The next step in their dance would have to be hers.  She didn't let him wait.  His breath caught when  her fingertips trailed along his flushed neckline. 

“This really is a rather nice tie, Jack,” she whispered, reaching out for the patterned silk. He didn'thave the courage to so much as breath until the knot gave way to her talented hands. The silk slipped away, forming a small pile at his feet. His eyes fell shut again briefly at the sensation of cool air flitting over his exposed skin, her thumb following behind it, drawing gently along his collarbone, savouring every moment of what felt like a dream he might wake from any moment. 

His own trembling fingers reached for the scarf of her blouse, peeling it from her shoulder like you might open the delicate paper around a very expensive present, watching carefully for her reaction. She smiled. The gently falling fabric revealed her white neck which sent warmth through his stomach, making him braver in his task of ridding her of her clothing. Her hands meanwhile where much less focused, slipping over his body as if she was trying to remember every dip and rise. When they whispered along his waistband he was distracted enough to briefly paused in the discovery of her silken camisole - an oversight he hurriedly rectified once he could breath again.  There was no brassiere to keep  Phryne's hard nipples from pressing through the thin fabric and he couldn't resist the urge of running the pad of his thumb over one. The moan this drew from her resonated  through his stomach,  making him fear he might come before  he had even removed his trousers . 

Her fingers meanwhile had succeeded in unbuttoning his vest and with one swift movement she peeled  the outer layers from his shoulders, leaving him in shirtsleeves, feeling utterly naked,  before she once again aimed a pair of hooded blue eyes at him in challenge. 

It was that very moment that his patience  found itself exhausted and he ended their slow dance of seduction by drawing her in and latching onto her neck. Phryne groaned in surprise, but the palette of sound changed a moment later, encouraging him with  growing  moans as he worked his way down to a freckled shoulder while his left hand explored the remainder of her body. She caught his mouth in another kiss while they tumbled backwards, her fingers feverishly working on the barrier of his pants just when she stumbled against something soft. It was the armrest of the sofa and his frenzied hands, currently brushing up her skirt, lifted her easily onto it. Phryne took the invitation to  curl her legs around him , taking his breath away. 

She paused for a moment to savour Jack's glazed eyes then. Watching her Inspector unravel underneath her fingertips was just as delicious as she had anticipated - if not more so. But he had no patience left to wait for her to finish her observation, his restless fingers tangling back into her hair, his burning mouth on hers as if he intended to devour her. The urgency with which he pressed his body between her thighs intensified her need, her hands finally releasing the last button of his fly. When she touched his hot skin, he drew in a breath so sharp that she feared he might faint on her.

“Oh, fuck.” 

His hoarse growl caused her stomach to flip, and heat to pool between her legs. She'd never heard him curse before and now she gathered she knew why. He might get arrested for public indecency if he ever did.

“That sounds like a terribly good idea, Inspector,” she taunted, and he didn't need a second invitation. Phryne thought she discovered a tiny, dirty smile flit over his swollen lips as he pulled her hips towards himself in one sharp movement. Her knickers proved to be only a minor obstacle to a desperately aroused man and she threw her head back as he entered her. Resurfacing from the immediate pleasure of finally feeling him, she realised that he had stilled, his eyes shut tightly. She might have been amused by the fact that the Inspector was actually seeing stars at present, but as it was, she felt worry dampen her enthusiasm. 

“Jack?” 

She reached out to touch his flushed cheek and he looked back at her with some embarrassment.

“It's been a long time, Miss Fisher,” he whispered hoarsely when he realised that she was staring at him. 

She gave a grin at this, wrapping her legs tightly around him and pulling him deeper inside her. Jack groaned loudly, trying to hold on to some sort of sanity and utterly failing. He gave in. Into his lust, her rhythm, their body's entanglement, clamping her tightly to himself, feeling sweat slick their skin as she drove him closer with every thrust. It may not have been perfect, it was certainly far from romantic, but it was raw and real and he couldn't  have  stop ped himself if his life depended on it. 

Their lips found each other again, their moans being drowned in each other's mouths as they quickly climbed higher, their frantic rhythm speeding up. Nevertheless, he was surprised when she trembled against him, arched her back with a small cry, pulling him off balance. He had no time to consider it, her climax drawing him  irresistably  over the edge. With a last, desperate groan he fell. 

Their tumble had been both, figurative and literal, he realised when he resurfaced from what felt like a small eternity and found himself on the couch on top of a rather uncomfortable, but giddy Miss Fisher. Carefully he shuffled some weight from her, coming to lie beside her.

“I wonder what Doctor Freud would say to that?” he quipped, once he had caught his breath, his hand gently stroking a lock of hair from her sweaty forehead. 

“He might advice us to find a bed,” she grinned while she snuggled against his shoulder. Jack stayed quiet at this, wondering how he would measure up to her parade of lovers, considering he hadn't been at the height of his game. A finger drew a mesmerizing line along the edge of his half-openend shirt. 

“I fear apologies are in order for my lack of stamina... and patience.” 

The last  was uttered with a sheepish smile, yet only silence answered him and when he turned his head, a pair of blue eyes was watching him carefully. 

“No matter, Jack.” 

In sudden resolve she pulled herself up and crawled over him, her skirt falling back in place as her stockinged feet hit the soft carpet.

Jack felt his heart sink while he watched her fill a glass from the almost forgotten decanter. Then she turned, a smile on her formerly red lips,  which were now as much in dissaray as the rest of her. 

“Are you coming?” 

He pulled himself into a sitting position.

“Coming where exactly?” 

“To the bedroom, of course. You don't expect me to let you escape while you are still half-dressed?” 

He gaped for a moment before his eyes flitted downwards, then back to her.

“I believe I might need a moment, Miss Fisher.”

Despite his protest he found himself already attempting to rise from the sofa onto wobbly knees.

“The perfect opportunity to tell me all of your secrets, Inspector,” she promised with a wink, taking his hand. 

“That, again, might take a while longer,” he smiled, his fingers wrapping around hers tightly as he followed her into the bedroom and closed the door behind them. 

 

 


	2. A Fool's Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my plan to make this a one-shot didn't work out as expected. Jack insisted he could do more than I've given him credit for. And who wants to argue with an Inspector...?

**A Fool's Paradise**

 

“Were you tempted?”

  
The question ripped Jack's happiness- and whisky-saturated brain out of the contemplation of how different her skin looked – and felt – lit by the soft glow of half a dozen candles. In the time they had been lying snuggled up in bed together, talking about many subjects, none of which he could remember right now, the world outside the window had fallen dark. But in here was a tiny oasis of soft candlelight that reflected his inner glow.

  
“I am tempted by many things,” he answered vaguely, running his fingertips down her arm, swallowing the rest of this particular thought: that he was still wearing his shirtsleeves and she had a promise to keep. Then again, his body was warm and heavy and touching hers in several places. He wasn't certain if he currently even wanted to be ravished.

  
“Do be serious,” she demanded, her hair tickling his neck as she pulled herself onto an elbow. “Even you must have noticed that Concetta is quite lovely... and rather smitten with you,” she added grumpily.

  
Jack couldn't help a smile. So, it was still bearing on her mind. Interesting.

  
“Even me, Miss Fisher? I could consider that an insult,” he quipped, snuggling deeper into the pillows.

  
She huffed at this.

  
“Even Jack Robinson, most upstanding of all police officers, can't be completely oblivious to a beautiful woman's attentions.”

  
His smile broadened.

  
“Maybe not completely.” They fell silent for a long moment.

  
“So, why did you refuse her?” Phryne asked, refilling the only glass that had made it into the bedroom. The angle in which she held the decanter from her lying position turned this into a rather adventurous task. “It must have been an enticing offer...?”

  
He accepted the lipstick-stained tumbler from her hand and took a gulp, an act that felt strangely intimate, watching her pretence of nonchalance over the edge of the tumbler. He was indeed sorely tempted to inform her that he hadn't refused Concetta's offer at all. But he thought better of it.

  
“I believe this isn't a subject we should deepen,” he grinned instead, “and if you insist on bringing it up, Miss Fisher, I may have to take drastic measures.”  
Her lips curled into a cheeky smile at his vague promise.

  
“Like what, Inspector?”

  
She retrieved the glass and emptied it without taking her eyes from him. Jack felt a rush in his belly that he chose to ignore. Still, he couldn't stop himself from smirking at her seductive batting of lashes.

  
“Like bringing up Captain Compton.”

  
He might have imagined the slightest of squints before she rolled her eyes at him and returned the tumbler onto the bedside table.  
“Compton is a dear old friend. But then he never proposed marriage to me.”

  
“No, I assume his offers were of a more physical nature.”

  
Phryne wasn't certain if to be amused or annoyed with Jack's sarcastic mumble. Beneath his dry humour, however, she could feel the mood change and that was not something she could allow to happen. So she didn't answer, instead pulling the blanket up to her shoulder. A moment later his breath hitched and she simpered as her palm trailed over the dark wool of his pants, his heat bleeding through the fabric and his muscles tensing underneath her touch.

  
“I believe your body is making me a very similar offer, Inspector.”

  
To her surprise, he grasped her hand, removing it with gentle force from his thigh before pulling it to his lips. The tenderness of his kiss all but brought tears to her eyes, especially since he didn't seem willing to let go of her fingers even after he had finished with his caress – if for fear she might return to her doings or simply because he wanted to feel her, remained open to interpretation.

  
Phryne settled down into the soft pillows, felt his warmth creep up her arm from their entwined fingers, sought out his eyes which were big and shiny in the candlelight. There were questions lingering there.

  
“Have you ever been propositioned with the danger of holy matrimony, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked into the sudden silence.

  
“Maybe once or twice...” she stated vaguely before recalling who she was talking to. Indeed, Jack looked at her with an expression that told her that he could see right through her lie.

  
“It happens,” she explained grumpily. “Not every liberal minded dalliance is understood as such by all parties.”

  
She searched Jack's eyes for a reaction. While she had no intention of any romantic confessions tonight, she couldn't help but fear that he would take this personally. But his features remained unreadable.

  
“Undoubtedly,” he finally breathed, extending his fingers to trail them over the pulse on her neck. “I imagine you have left many a broken heart in your wake.”  
“It wasn't always the men who misunderstood.”

  
She hadn't planned on blurting it out and the surprise ghosting through his eyes made her wish she hadn't. Yet he didn't say anything, only his fingers stilled, now lying warm and soft like a butterfly against her neck. Phryne chewed on her lip, unsure what he expected. If he hoped she'd divulge her dire experiences with love to him, he had another thing coming.

  
“Are you going to elaborate?” he asked quietly and to her surprise it actually seemed like a genuine question. She shrugged.

  
“You've made Dubois's acquaintance.”

  
“Briefly,” he smiled.

  
His fingertips continued their wander down her neck and over her chest, avoiding the edge of her camisole and instead gently brushing a thin strap from her shoulder.

  
“And from first impression I could not quite understand the attraction,” he continued under his breath when she just lay still, enjoying his attentions.

  
“He was... an adventure,” Phryne explained, closing her eyes when he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her exposed shoulder.

  
“And of course you couldn't resist a challenge?”

  
“You know me better than to ask that,” she smiled, her lashes fluttering open to find him leaned over her, his eyes dark, his hand having somehow curled around her waist. He actually did know her that well. The realisation caused her heart to skip a beat.

  
“I was also rather foolish,” she admitted, when he didn't appear satisfied with her answer and revelled in the smile her confession provoked.

  
“A psychopathic killer seems indeed a rather unfortunate choice for a first love,” Jack agreed with a tilt of his head before he returned to nibbling on her neck. Phryne's finger wove into his hair on their own accord.

  
“Who said anything about first?” she breathed. To her disappointment he retreated.

  
“Now I am intrigued, Miss Fisher.”

  
Phryne weighed her options of dragging him back down to persuade him into continuing, but a tiny voice in her head pointed out that he had answered all her questions truthfully and it was only fair she repaid the favour.

  
“Russell Stonedale,” she smiled thinly, her fingers playing with Jack's locks, a thumb brushing down his earlobe. “He was the Gardener's son at the boarding school I attended.”

  
“Not a pick your aunt would have approved of, I assume,” the Inspector quipped, struggling not to purr at her touch, yet he kept his eyes glued to her, unwilling to miss a shade of emotion on her features or a word from her lips.

  
“Aunt P might be a little too concerned with appearances,” she smiled, realising that there was a lingering question being asked that went much beyond her young romance. “I grew up in Collingwood, Jack. I doubt my parents would have opposed any choice in man, but then I would have eloped if necessary.”

  
The Inspector's hand, which had been lying still on her waist for some time, moved, his thumb stroking a little half circle over the silk of her camisole. Phryne noted it at the edge of her consciousness while most of it was busy diving into half-forgotten emotions.

  
“You were engaged?” he asked, sounding somewhat strangled.

  
She flashed a brief smile without interrupting the absent-minded caress of his hair.

  
“I guess not as such. We were dreaming with our eyes open... as young lovers do.”

  
Jack realised that he needed to draw some air into his lungs. The idea of Phryne Fisher as a young girl in love, dreaming of a wedding and family, quite literally had taken his breath away.

  
“What happened?” he finally managed. She shrugged.

  
“I guess he just... changed his mind.”

  
The frown appearing on Jack's features almost made up for digging through painful memories. Like it escaped his grasp that anyone could have rejected her. Phryne battled down the urge to laugh – or to cry, she wasn't entirely certain.

  
“His parents found out. They thought me a 'rich, spoiled brat' and a terrible influence on their son – not entirely unjustified, I assure you,” she explained in an upbeat tone of voice. Her translucent eyes betrayed her happy appearance, however. “He didn't put up much of a fight.”

Jack didn't so much as smile at her joke. Instead his hand slipped up her body, cupped her cheek, his thumb gently trailing over her lips.

“What a fool,” he murmured in a tone of voice that crawled underneath her skin and vibrated in every fibre of her body.

“I was the fool,” she whispered, while he caressed her with every bit of attention at his disposal.

“Shhh,” he murmured and then he kissed her. Phryne discovered the strangest of emotions – being comforted by a lover and not feeling at all offended.  
Eventually she had to come up for breath, finding his eyes soft and dark like black velvet. The emotion in them was overwhelming. His lips brushed over hers again in the lightest of touches, his hot breath ghosting over her cheeks. She pulled him closer, needing to feel him, desperate to wrap herself into his arms. Jack had no intention of letting go.

He had learned a long time ago that Miss Fisher always played her cards close to her chest. But somehow he had ended up one of the chosen few who were allowed to catch a glimpse into the depths of her heart here and there and every time he did, he felt the awe of a small boy stepping into a church for the very first time. And so he looked at the kaleidoscope of colours the Sunday afternoon sun painted onto the floorboards of her soul, the white marble and the gold glittering in the caress of the warm rays and wished he could stay forever. Not a thought he would share. He rather suspected that “forever” was something that scared her more than any crazy killer could.

Jack resurfaced from the depths of thought with the realisation that he was encircled by Phryne's soft arms, holding onto him tightly, his hot forehead lying against hers, her unique scent infiltrating his nose. The love spreading through his chest was crushing and he had to bite his tongue in order to keep the words from spilling over his lips.  
His mouth found hers without any thought, the heat mingling on their tongues with a desperate wish to hold onto this moment.

Phryne felt a flash of emotion when his lips left to draw an intoxicating trail down her neck. His hand had come back to life, painting along every line of her body with gentle determination. She knew in the back of her mind that he had taken control of the situation yet again, but felt too heavy and content to stop him, instead allowing herself to melt into his touch.

Jack's hand reached the edge of peach-coloured silk, pausing for a brief moment to give him a chance to look at her. Whatever he found, he took it as permission and with the most tender of gestures he brushed the camisole down to capture a nipple with his mouth. Phryne arched her back in a soundless moan.

The Inspector had once again trouble holding onto his self-control. Every single one of his muscles trembled with tension as he continued his exploration of her body. But his desire to savour her and this night outweighed the lust rushing his veins.

It soon became clear that Miss Fisher wasn't going to make his resolve easy to keep. Writhing underneath him she rewarded his efforts with a throaty groan, causing his hips to jerk involutarily against her thigh.

Her fingers had stolen underneath his shirt and his breath hitched in his throat when her nails tenderly trailed along his spine. The Inspector closed his eyes tightly, touch guiding his caresses over her soft skin along with the little noises he drew from her. Everything about it was intoxicating and unreal, as if he had stumbled into a dream.

  
“Jack...”

  
It was a faint whisper, but it held all the longing in the world and his heart did a leap. Maybe he wasn't dreaming after all... A gentle hand curling around his neck urged him to return to her, an offer even a man much less in love than Jack Robinson could have barely resisted.  
He didn't stand a chance.

  
The sight which met him challenged the remainder of his sober mind.

  
Phryne's beautiful breasts were flushed with excitement in the same colour as her cheeks, her eyes dark and sparkling in the flickering light and her lips -- her lips... His observation ended abruptly when she pulled him down to her with gentle force, rendering thought impossible.

  
There was still too much fabric separating them, Phryne noted in the haze of arousal and joy clouding her brain. His thigh had come to rest between hers, his state unmistakable, yet he seemed determined to prolong the torturous pace he had set. Miss Fisher had never been a particularly patient woman.

  
She bucked against him, willing him to forget his restraints, but Jack wasn't having any of it.

  
He retreated far enough to struggle out of his shirtsleeves and for a brief moment he seemed to hesitate as he watched her eyes graze over his naked chest. Phryne had never glimpsed any doubt in him and felt oddly touched by the unusual emotion.

  
While she still contemplated this, her fingers appeared to have developed a life of their own, discovering the hills and valley's of his chest for the first time undisturbed.  
Jack held still as if he was scared to move, but when her nail scraped over his nipple, he bit down on his lip with a quiet moan that went right through her entire body without even bothering to pass her ears.

  
It wasn't the only surprise playing on Phryne's mind. The distinct absence of an expected piece of clothing had met her unprepared the first time, but what she could have explained away with a laundry accident before, was now a fact – Jack wasn't fond of undershirts. She would have to ask him the reason. But possibly not while he was lying on top of her, looking entirely too delicious to ignore.

  
He was gorgeous in the soft glow of the candles, his chest slightly pale, his ribs too skinny, but neither diminished this moment, his eyes shining with passion and something else that took her breath away.

  
Love. It had to be.

  
Her throat was suddenly too tight to speak. Luckily there was no need for words. She thoughtlessly disposed of the restrictive camisole before pulling him against herself again, revelling in the feel of his warm skin against her breasts. Jack's mouth grew more urgent, his arms wrapping around her as if he wanted to meld her to his body and at present she felt she would have happily melted into him.

  
His comforting weight on top of her, Phryne's anticipation rose; she groaned in disappointment when he pulled away, yet again. Jack's amusement about this was as unmistakable as the lust etched in his breathless voice.

  
“Patience, Miss Fisher.”

  
She pulled her lips into a pout.

  
“Not one my virtues, Jack.”

  
He only grinned, his hand trailing down her sides before carefully peeling her skirt from her hips. Phryne felt strangely exposed. It wasn't as if Jack was the first man who had ever undressed her, but he seemed able to strip much more than her clothes from her, which turned out to be slightly unsettling and incredibly thrilling. His palm stroking over her stocking encouraged a soft moan from her, causing him to look rather smug, before a fierce struggle with a suspender clasp dampened his confidence. He had the decency to look embarrassed.

  
“I... Rosie wasn't in the habit of...”

  
Phryne pulled herself upright, putting a finger to his lips that silenced him instantly.

  
“I believe we have talked quite enough about former lovers tonight.”

  
With one swift movement she opened the troublesome clasp before he even had the time to nod. The others followed. But when she attempted to roll down her stockings, her hand was carefully moved aside.

  
“Allow me... please.”

  
Phryne was briefly surprised by his request, but a smile snuck onto her lips as she settled back onto her elbows to watch him work. This was a first for him - the realisation hit her with full force and flooded her stomach with warmth. She didn't have time to wonder in what other areas he may lack experience, distracted by the way his gentle hands stroked the silk from her legs with absolute concentration before returning for the last of her underthings. He certainly was a quick learner.

  
Jack couldn't tear his eyes away from the curves he had dreamed - fantasised about for longer than he cared to remember. His imagination hadn't done her justice and his body protested any further ado.

  
Their slow dance had left him painfully hard, yearning to be inside her, but he wasn't ready to see it end, which left him in a sea of conflicting emotion.  
Jack removed his trousers unhurried, a last attempt at trying to prolong what he couldn't, but the glimmer he discovered in her eyes on looking up laid waste to the remainder of his resistance. Her warm arms welcomed him as he returned to her, opened her mouth with a tender kiss, stroking a lock from her flushed, glowing features. He couldn't withstand temptation forever, but he could savour this, he realised, and it would be his to remember. A treasure in the wasteland of his history.

  
She moved against him, urging him to quit his teasing and he complied with a faint grin which faded quickly. Their joining wasn't quite as overwhelming as their afternoon encounter, but Jack still felt himself tremble with the sensation. He lay still for a long moment, trying to find his senses and this time Phryne allowed him to. When he managed to pry open his eyes she was watching him with so much tenderness that his heart threatened to burst.

  
“Are you all right?” she whispered. A slight shake of his head answered her.

  
“I fear I am losing my mind, Miss Fisher.”

  
His dry grin relieved her beyond measure and she pulled him into a sensuous kiss.

  
“Sanity is said to be the antagonist of happiness,” she smiled, a tad out of breath when he began moving.

  
“I believe Freud might disagree,” Jack panted, his lips almost brushing hers. Phryne was too lost in him to utter any reply.

  
They found a rhythm, an ebb and flow of movement in their entanglement of bodies and souls. He didn't speak another word, but she felt his undivided presence in every touch, every gesture and sound. In the flickering candlelight, wrapped in the heavy silk sheets with the dark night locked outside their window, he was hers.  
Phryne found herself confused at how much she dreaded the morning.

  
A delicious groan brought her back to the present, causing her stomach to flip with desire. It wouldn't bear to dwell on their uncertain future.

  
Tonight was tonight. Tomorrow could wait.

  
The taut muscles underneath her fingertips, the thin layer of sweat covering his back as he writhed in the sweet agony of his building lust, his feverish lips blindly searching hers, soon made any thought impossible, reducing her to feeling, tasting and loving him with everything she was.  
When Jack finally trembled, tightly wrapped in her arms, she felt no regrets.

  
He pressed a breathless kiss to her forehead before collapsing into an inelegant heap on the incredibly soft mattress. His day had been long and the unusual nightly activities had drained the last of his strengths.  
While he watched her catch her breath, admiring a droplet of sweat rolling down the line of her neck in the light of the last remaining candle, he wondered dimly if he was expected to leave. She had fulfilled her promises, after all, and he wasn't entirely certain if Miss Fisher shared her mornings with her lovers as readily as her nights. The thought sobered him somewhat but was incapable of sweeping the lingering signs of bliss from his features.

  
She rolled to her side, facing him and he couldn't fight the relief flooding his senses when she brought the tangled sheets up to cover them both, her hand briefly brushing his cheek before it moved lower.

  
“How did this happen?” she asked quietly. It took him a moment to realise that she was indicating a mark close to his heart that she was currently caressing with the pad of her thumb.

  
“A silly amount of bravery,” he explained with a wry smile. “Attacking an armed thug with only my fists was a very foolish idea, as it turned out.”

  
“A fool thinking himself to be wise then?” she quoted teasingly, causing him to cock his head at her.

  
“A wise man who had to learn that he is merely a fool,” he corrected. Jack struggled to resist the urge of stroking her still naked shoulder. “And I am a great fool, Miss Fisher” he murmured, losing the battle.

  
To his endless surprise she didn't jump onto this opening, instead turning to blow out the remaining flame, dipping them into darkness. He gave no resistance when he felt her arms snake around him, her hair tickling his neck as she snuggled underneath his chin. She fit neatly against him, he realised, holding on tightly, glittering stars dancing in his belly.

  
“I am rather glad you weren't fool enough to die before I've made your acquaintance,” she breathed against his chest. The Inspector had fallen asleep before he could come up with a suitable reply to this statement.


	3. Breathing Under Water

He was suffocating. 

Jack started awake, his heart drumming against his rib cage, his eyes trying to focus in the unfamiliar darkness. Pulling himself half upright, he attempted to make sense of surroundings looking nothing like his bedroom. A soft, sleepy groan cleared enough of the fog around his brain to alert him to the heavy arm thrown over his stomach, the hair tickling his naked chest and indeed the complete lack of any sleeping attire. 

The Windsor. 

Phryne!

Memories came flooding back, bringing emotion with them. Defeated, he sank back into the pillows, protested by another moan from Miss Fisher. Her hand lazily stroked his belly, settling just under his ribs, her fingers leaving a warm trail on his skin. They failed to soothe him. 

Instead Jack's disorientation lingered as he lay in the deafening quietude of the early hours, long before the daylight would return, drowning in the thicket of emotions crowding his chest.   
He recalled dimly having fallen asleep glowing with happiness. And considering that he was curled up with Miss Fisher, a position that had seemed unachievable – and rather unwise – only a few months ago, he could have been forgiven to be overcome with joy... yet a sense of dread retained it's iron grip on his stomach. 

He couldn't lie to himself as he lay still, not daring to move. They had stumbled over the threshold balancing their relationship and while he had burned to cross the line – now that they had reached the point of no return, the path ahead still lay in thick fog. 

Jack Robinson was scared! 

He drew a deep breath into his lungs, willing himself to go back to sleep. Fleeing this hotel suite in the middle of the night most probably held the power to demolish any chance of a repeat once and for all. So instead Jack carefully shifted, curling up into a more comfortable position. He came to lie only inches from her face which was lost in peaceful dreams. 

Another deep breath. As he admired the beauty of a sleeping – and utterly quiet – Phryne Fisher, his throat tightened further. He could get accustomed to this sleeping arrangement... In fact, he wanted it so badly that it hurt. But then that was Miss Fisher's choice to make and if she considered it worth the sacrifice of her freedom was anyone's guess. Jack forced his eyes shut, drew more air into his lungs, attempted to calm his racing heartbeat. Sleep... Sleep wouldn't come. 

Suddenly a pair of warm lips was on his, a hand curling into his hair and he found himself surrendering to her kiss before he had even realised what was happening. When she finally retreated, his eyes fluttered open to make out her features against the blue shadows of the night. 

“You are supposed to be asleep, Miss Fisher,” he accused in a whisper, despite the absence of anyone to eavesdrop. 

“So are you, Jack,” she murmured without retrieving her fingers from his hair, where they were doubtlessly up to mischief. He was distracted from them by her eyes, however, which he felt were currently searching through every inch of his soul, rifling through the emotions he was trying to hide. Jack cringed inwardly. 

“I don't sleep well in strange beds,” he explained airily, hoping that she would believe him. To his surprise, she smiled at this in a rather cheeky manner. 

“You didn't appear to have any trouble finding rest in mine.” 

Luckily the darkness hid the blush creeping over his cheeks at the memory of the one night he had spent wrapped up in her sheets. 

“Your father's nerve tonic might have played a role in that,” he explained dryly after a pause. Despite his still raw nerves, he could feel some relief in her company, in the entrancing rhythm of her massaging fingertips. 

“Just a minor detail,” she quipped. Her hand finally left his hair to settle on his neck. 

Phryne found herself confused. She could feel his anxiety, had even sensed it creep into her slumber, rousing her. What had caused his mood change, however, was a complete mystery to her. Was it regret that had his pulse pounding against her fingertips? 

In search for an answer she trailed a thumb down the line of his neck, over his Adam's apple, watching him closely. It was hard to make out a reaction, but his eyes were on her, unblinking, softening as her hand slipped lower to caress his chest. Her stomach settled somewhat in it's apprehensive flutter. No regrets then... 

But a tear. 

She spotted it a mere moment later, her palm stilling right over his heart: a tiny glittering drop in the corner of his eye, disappearing in the pillow a moment later, belying its very existence. Phryne's thoughts were whirling with possible reasons for such emotions. Her heart however, had already come to a decision. Before she knew it, her lips were tenderly brushing over his eyelids, striving to kiss away the remainder of any salty droplets along with the sadness that had caused them. 

The tenderness of his skin was addictive, his lashes fluttering against her like caught butterflies. A hitch in his breath encouraged her to linger, graze his face with the lightest of kisses. She was out of breath by the time she pulled back to observe if her comfort had made any difference. The change was astounding. 

Jack had uncurled from the fetal position she had found him in, his eyes still closed, yet his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For a brief moment she wondered if he had dozed off under her caress. Then his hand slipped over silken sheets towards her, blindly grasping for hers and entwining their fingers. 

Phryne feared she might burst into tears as well. 

Instead she leaned in, peppering tiny kisses along his collarbone. He didn't stir as she continued her ministration on his chest, just silently watched her every move from underneath half-closed lashes. On her path she narrowly avoided a nipple and his ribcage expanded as he took in a deep breath. Phryne couldn't suppress a smile. She wasn't entirely certain what it would take to sate her Inspector, but she was determined to give it her best try. For the time being though, she was content to explore him. The little rise a bullet had left in his skin caught her attention again causing her to pause. He had been lucky, there was no doubt about it. And while Miss Fisher wasn't in the habit of dwelling on “what ifs” she took a moment to remember just how short life was, before she leaned in and pressed her lips to the scar. She sensed his reaction, though she could not attempt to describe it. It might have been surprise, pleasure or even shame, or indeed a mixture of all three. It didn't bear to ponder it's meaning, she had a lifetime to figure out what exactly she had done to him. 

The thought, flitting through her mind like a summer's breeze, startled her, but not enough to abandon her ministrations, now having reached his navel. Miss Fisher frowned slightly, luckily invisible to her bed partner. A lifetime was an awfully long time to even consider. 

Jack's breath had grown heavy, but he wouldn't stir from his position, sprawled on the bed as though his muscles were too heavy to move. He must be sore, Phryne briefly wondered, tired after the exertion of the afternoon and evening. Her experience had taught her that men, no matter how capable in life, were limited in how much they could endure between the sheets and Jack had confirmed himself that it had been years since his last encounter of the kind. Yet he didn't seem opposed to her attentions - in contrast there was a groan of disappointment when she slipped lower, manoeuvring herself past his hips without paying any mind to the parts of his anatomy which most obviously longed for her attentions. 

“Patience, Jack,” she whispered with a simper, reflecting their earlier conversation. 

“Not one of my virtues, Miss Fisher” he quipped. 

She rolled her eyes at his obvious lie. His patience seemed eternal, she realised, at times more than challenging her own. How long had he been waiting? She couldn't tell. But a thigh muscle flexing underneath her exploring mouth told her that the cat-and-mouse game they had indulged in since the moment of their acquaintance, had ended. The mouse had been caught – even though she wasn't entirely certain which of them embodied the cat in this metaphor and who the cheeky rodent. 

Right now, however, it was her turn to tease and Phryne Fisher delighted in the chance to undo him slowly and thoroughly. She took her time to caress every inch of his skin with her mouth, her fingertips, the brush of her naked body and soon she could feel Jack growing restless, squirming underneath her touch, soundlessly willing her to end her sweet torment. She had no intention of the kind. Instead she concentrated her attention on a tiny spot just below his ankle were his skin was particularly soft. I was a surprising find on a man who seemed to be on his feet more than was good for him. She couldn't help but wonder how he tasted and a gentle bite followed this most ridiculous thought.

A loud moan that seemed to echo from the walls of the hotel bedroom marked the Inspector's iron-clad composure finally crumbling. Phryne chewed her lip in amusement, even as she felt excitement prickle through her own body. An aroused Jack was more exquisite than she could have ever imagined, and God knew, she had tried. 

Far from being satisfied with her work yet, she took her time to trail her lips back up his heated body with the goal of rectifying her earlier negligence. The moment her lips touched him she felt his whole body tense, as though he couldn't bear her teasing any longer. But he held on, panting, grappling for composure. She chose to have mercy on him. 

Despite the night being too dark to make out much of his heated features, he was undeniably trembling when she ventured to kiss his face. Phryne wasn't certain if to be worried or proud by just how much she affected him. Everything about him was tense, straining, willing to give into whatever she wanted. She had succeeded in completely unravelling him and a undeniable, heady sense of power filled her. But there was also something else, a knowledge that she held him in her hands and that if she wasn't careful she could break something very precious. Phryne bit her lip. She had never desired this kind of responsibility for a man any more than she'd wanted to be at anyone's mercy herself. Yet here she was, risking both of their hearts. 

A sweaty palm caressed her cheek, seeking to guide her to his hot lips and she gave in. The reasons for his tears were suddenly clear as a winter morning. Jack Robinson knew the danger in being here, knew how vulnerable he had become in baring himself - he was a brave man. But he couldn't see that she was in just as much danger. If they sunk, neither of them would survive. The realisation didn't stop her from deepening their kiss, even as she moved to straddle him. 

The sound with which Jack commented their joining resembled a whimper more than a moan and her heart thumped painfully loud in her chest. 

Jack was still not entirely certain if he was waking or not, but what did it matter? He had been haunted by his share of erotic dreams ever since encountering the Honourable Phryne Fisher and each of them had filled him with the same taste of delicious pain. 

Only the breasts pressed against him when she leaned in for another kiss, were incredibly real, her taste sweeter on his tongue than his over-active mind had ever imagined. His hands had grasped her hips, hoping to gain some control over the situation – in vain. She writhed on him very much in her own design, seeking to pleasure herself along with him. He dimly realised that he had no idea how to satisfy her and that he should probably ask – yet his tongue refused service. So he just submitted to her rhythm, beads of sweat trailing down his forehead as he watched her silhouette move in the throes of ecstasy. Her moans grew louder, entwining in the blue light with his own. 

How he had ached for this; the reality was too much. Every fibre of his body burned with a vague sense of yearning, an unsatisfied hunger that he wasn't certain if he could ever sate, yet he tried, his sweat-slicked limbs reaching out for her. He needed to feel her more than he needed air, hold her, shatter into her. His head spinning, he felt the heat grow, expand, engulf him, the world dissolving into a million sensations... 

“Breathe,” he heard her whisper beside his ear when his senses returned. “Just breathe.” 

Obediently he gasped for air, filled his lungs with the elixir of life, the darkness caressing him, soothing his raw soul. 

Phryne was still regaining her own breath as she snuggled into his side, pulling the covers over the quivering bundle that was left of this wonderful, strong man. Truly she wanted to enquire what had happened to him, but she tamed her curiosity. It took several minutes until she felt the effects of his shattering climax retreat, his heartbeat slow down, his arm coming to hold her and she dared speak to him in the hope of her words being absorbed. 

“Maybe we should try without the nerve tonic,” she whispered against his chest, her breath sending a cool shiver over his damp skin. 

The Inspector listened with half an ear, the tendrils of sleep already tearing on his sleeves. Then her meaning sank in and he felt his heart stop. 

“Try what, Miss Fisher?” he heard himself ask, voice rough with strain from groans he could barely remember. 

Oblivious to his inner turmoil she pulled herself onto an elbow. 

“If sleeping in my bed is an option you might grow to enjoy, of course,” she explained nonchalantly.

Jack finally managed to pry his eyes open and touch her hair. It was damp with sweat, her face serious. 

“What do you think?” she urged quietly, when he failed to answer. 

“The attempt can't hurt,” he rasped, pulling her back onto his chest before his eyes could give away the emotions swirling through him. He could feel her smiling against him but she didn't say another word. 

Miss Fisher fell asleep little later and he found it impossible to suppress a grin when soft snoring sounded through the night. Jack lay awake until the first suspicion of dawn began peeking through the window, his limbs tightly curled around the treasure in his arms. He welcomed the morning like an old friend when a bird began singing outside the window, even though he was fairly certain that it wasn't a nightingale – or a lark for that matter. The realisation that the remainder of this night was slipping through his fingers didn't manage to strike any fear in his heart.


	4. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

An entirely different bird waking Miss Fisher with it's rather annoying interpretation of a warble, was absolutely no nightingale. On a brief glance from blurry eyes it looked more like a pigeon. It flew away, however, before she had managed to shake the sleep from her heavy brain and lift her head. Her lips curled into a smile as the vivid memories of the last night returned, just a brief moment before she noticed the absence of one Detective Inspector. She chewed on her lip in thought, battling down the worry that tried to sneak into her heart and instead made use of her sharp mind.

The morning light had already gained enough warmth to tell her that it was impolite to still be lying in bed and if memory didn't betray her it was a Wednesday. Which meant, Jack Robinson likely considered it his duty to appear at the Station.

In fact, the Inspector had crawled out from underneath her heavy body around 8 o'clock, later than he usually would have as he'd found it completely impossible to leave her warmth behind any earlier. Considering that he had exited his office in the previous afternoon with no explanation whatsoever, he'd feared that he might have to answer some uncomfortable questions on his return, but that somehow hadn't seemed capable of wiping the grin from his face. The Inspector had concluded that he would have to work on this, lest the criminals in this city would think he'd gone mad. He hadn't, however, attempted to hide the spring in his step as he'd taken the stairs in his crumpled suit, down to a rather curious looking man behind the reception, had instead greeted him friendly before stepping out into a sunny morning.

Phryne Fisher knew none of this and she didn't have time to contemplate the possibilities further, as a sharp rapping tore her from her thoughts.

“Room service, ma'am,” a maid called from the parlour. The interruption was welcome, Miss Fisher realised. Her stomach was growling, doubtlessly due to the exertion of last night. With a quick movement Phryne was out of bed and flung her morning gown over her naked shoulders. The girl that greeted the barely dressed woman with a curtsy was tiny, with pretty dark curls which seemed about to burst out of the restraint of her cap.

“Thank you,” Phryne smiled, fishing for her purse in order to give her a generous tip while the young girl sat down a silver tray laden with so much food that Miss Fisher couldn't imagine eating it all herself. She remembered dimly that she had hoped for company when she had ordered breakfast and a tiny twinge of disappointment announced itself. Why did Jack have to be such a dutiful spoilsport? Then, of course, that was something she rather appreciated about her Inspector. 'Her' Inspector. The smile snuck back onto her lips before she realised that the maid was still standing in the middle of the parlour and she herself was clutching onto her purse absorbed in romantic thought. She'd have to work on that unless the whole of the Windsor should think her a lovestruck fool.

“Will that be all, Ma'am?” the girl asked with another curtsy and Phryne gave her a warm smile and a banknote that she didn't bother to look at closely before dismissing her. The excitement on the maid's face told her that she had probably been even more generous than intended.

With a whistle on her lips, Phryne shoved the rest of the money back into her purse, when something caught her eye. In some confusion she pulled her notebook free and frowned. She couldn't remember returning it to her things. Her eyes swept back to the sofa where Jack had lost his restraint yesterday afternoon and to the small side table on which she could have sworn she had left the booklet. In quick resolve she flicked through the leaves and found between mostly empty pages finally a messy hand. It took her a moment to decipher the hurriedly written words.

“I hear Strano's is not the only place in town serving good wine...”

Hastily she flicked further until she found another note.

“Bella Notte, 8 o'clock.”

Phryne shut the booklet, her head whirling with thoughts. She remembered the “Bella Notte”, a small Italian restaurant that she had once visited with Dot for an investigation, a long time ago. She recalled wild wine growing down the walls of the small courtyard, the summer breeze playing in her hair as she enjoyed the red wine and the melody of heated lunch conversation in the foreign language. It was certainly not the kind of restaurant that she generally frequented, the creme de la creme of Melbourne's society didn't bother with places like this one. Which might have been more an encouragement than a hindrance for Jack to pick this particular restaurant for... what? A romantic rendezvous? Or some investigation he counted on her help in?

She opened the notebook again, flicked to the last page in hope for some explanation.

“You might wish to bring your pistol for the eventuality of someone dropping dead into the soup. In case of no murder, as unlikely as that seems in your presence, you may have to settle for my company.”

Warmth crept up from fingertips, pooling in her chest. So, he had arranged a date. A public date of the romantic kind.

Restoring the booklet carefully into her purse, Phryne turned her attention to the breakfast tray. Thoughtless hands spread butter onto toast and stirred sugar into tea, while she pondered his proposition. She wasn't entirely certain if she appreciated to be ordered around by a man's whims. Particularly when they disappeared from her bed without even saying goodbye.

Grumbling she flung herself onto the sofa, black silk slipping from her knees to reveal her thigh.  
She realised that she had come to rest just where he had lain yesterday and before she knew it she had pulled the pillow free and inhaled his scent which still lingered in the fabric. She frowned. Dear God, she was in far over her head!

Argue with herself all she liked, she would be strutting into Bella Notte no more than ten minutes past eight, expecting Jack to be sitting at a table, his dark eyes glittering in the candlelight.

For some reason the idea didn't scare the Honourable Miss Fisher as much as it should have as she finished her breakfast. In fact, someone watching her might have been amused by the radiant smile that wouldn't leave her as she went to get ready for a day which promised to get interesting.


End file.
